THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH.
"O Death! how bitter is the remembrance of thee, to a man that is at ease in his possessions."
Ecclesiasticus IV. 1.
The rich man moved in pomp. His soul was gorged
With the gross fulness of material things,
So that it spread no pinion forth to seek
A better world than this. There was a change.
And in the sleepless chamber of disease,
Curtained and nursed, and ill-content he lay.
He had a wasted and an eager look,
And on the healer's brow he fixed a glance,
Keen—yet imploring.
What he greatly feared
Had come upon him. So he went his way—
The way of all the earth—and his lands took
Another's name.
Why dost thou come, O Death!
To print the bridal chamber with thy foot,
And leave the ruin of thy ministry,
When love, and joy, and hope, so late had hung
Their diamond cressets?
To the cradle side
Why need'st thou steal, changing to thine own hue
Of ghastly pale, the youthful mother's brow;
And for her nightly watchings, leaving nought
In payment, but a piece of marble clay.
